


Wound Man

by damalur



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Cannibalism, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damalur/pseuds/damalur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I think I'll eat your heart."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wound Man

**Author's Note:**

> For the [kink meme](http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/1375.html?thread=379743#cmt379743). Yay!

Here is the good doctor in his office. He stands behind his desk; before him lays a towel, soiled but neatly folded, and an instrument—something esoteric, a specialty tool. Its origins are not of consequence, although a keen eye would note the slick sheen of a stain that lingers even after a thorough cleaning.

Dr. Lecter crosses the room to his sideboard and removes the bottle of Château d'Yquem from where it chills on the ice. Ever the gracious host, he pours for his guest first.

"Your shock, Will," he says, "is, I must admit, much as I expected. Your judgment, though, was a delicious surprise. I had thought you beyond judgment." Behind him, good Will makes some noise, of protest or assent, or, possibly, of agony. The heady aroma of betrayal is overpowering; it is this, more than any fine wine, that Dr. Lecter savors.

"If not for your culteral morass, I wonder if your own gorge would be so quick to rise," he continues conversationally. "My actions are hardly without culinary precendent. In times of famine, will a mother not devour her own son? Had Abigail Hobbs lived in North Korea in 1990, or Leningrad in 1941, or Europe during 1315, her father might have slaughtered her out of necessity, as a farmer will slaughter a calf during a hard winter." There is, perhaps, a slight hesitation—no, a moment of reflection—before Dr. Lecter pronounces 'Leningrad'. His guest does not notice. Betrayal has yielded to bewilderment, but underneath is still that exquisite note of pain.

"Ah, I see you disagree," Dr. Lecter says. "You believe I was without need, is that it?" A pause, and then he sets aside his glass and begins to stroll the perimeter of the room, taking in the familiar details: curtains, bookcases, artwork. Here are his early sketches, sophomoric photocopies of design, and here his medical journals, and soon his circuit will take him past the open copy of von Gersdorff's _Feldbuch der Wundarznei_ on the sideboard. His demeanor is calm, inviting, as friendly as poor Will's dumb stare is hostile. 

"Perhaps we should turn to literary precedent, then. There is a powerful symbolism in codified ritual, Will. Are you religious? When you wake in the night paralyzed by fear, do you pray to God?" He gives his patient a moment to consider, although he seems to expect no answer. "If you truly believe that by consuming your enemy you could consume his courage, would you not be tempted? No more nightmares, Will, no more waking dreams that possess you with all of the evil that humanity has to offer. Could you resist?"

Dr. Lecter comes to a halt beside his guest and looks down on him as he considers. "Perhaps you simply think me a brute, a barbarian. Am I less than human, Will? Am I a madman? Is your imagination so narrow? 'There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so,' after all. Am I excused from responsibility?"

At his feet, Dr. Lecter's guest heaves. Dr. Lecter moves closer, mindless of the foul wetness of the rug, and leans over to study Will's face. "The most remarkable thing about you," he says, as his eyes drink down his guest's hurt, as his regard crystallizes Will's rage whole, "is that you are driven to act despite your fear." He moves closer still and says directly into his guest's ear, "I think, Will, that I'll eat your heart first."

Will Graham slips mercifully into unconsciousness.

On the desk, the linoleum knife glints in the lamplight.


End file.
